Going Home
It's been a full month since I've had time to sit down and write. Writing brings me home. And I've strayed so far lately. I'm on vacation now and literally "home" in the sense that I've left Hawaii for the next two weeks to be with my parents and go to the unfamiliar familiar place of the Northern Virginia suburbs and the greater Washington, DC area. Gotta love the irony.
I grew up here for the first 20 years of my life. In my early imagination it was such a hellish and un-friendly place for a young pukengkeng upstart. While a place fertile with resources and bustling with politics, it was so oppressive for a little pek-pek and not always so pinay friendly.
I return now as an adult, mother, actualized human being. It's just me and my daughter, Malaya that are here. And I'm hoping that over these next two weeks, I will be doing my own homecoming of sorts and writing every day. There will be lots to process. Lot's to share.
In fact, at this moment, I'm sitting waiting for my mother to come home from work. I'm getting flashbacks of her coming in through the door with a stethescope around her neck and her back hunched over. I remember feeling her glazed over, overwhelmed energy and just wanting to disolve it with an embrace. I remember vividly the dissapointment when she collapsed into bed with her hand over her eyes. These memories meld into my own experience now as I go into the world as a working mom and attempting to do my own version of healing. But now, I am the one begging my little girl for just five minutes of alone time, unpealing her off of me despite her protests.
Going home allows me to re-trace this familiar body feeling and getting in touch with original wounds. It is a feeling of anticipation and anxiousness to be re-united. Re-united with the first place my soul incarnated and was actualized. The first place I knew sustanance and the first place, I learned about shame and surviving.
I miss her the way I miss me. But maybe being "missing" is a strategy to get us through our own particular challenges without the self medication- and saving a little piece/peace of ourselves.
I grew up here for the first 20 years of my life. In my early imagination it was such a hellish and un-friendly place for a young pukengkeng upstart. While a place fertile with resources and bustling with politics, it was so oppressive for a little pek-pek and not always so pinay friendly.
I return now as an adult, mother, actualized human being. It's just me and my daughter, Malaya that are here. And I'm hoping that over these next two weeks, I will be doing my own homecoming of sorts and writing every day. There will be lots to process. Lot's to share.
In fact, at this moment, I'm sitting waiting for my mother to come home from work. I'm getting flashbacks of her coming in through the door with a stethescope around her neck and her back hunched over. I remember feeling her glazed over, overwhelmed energy and just wanting to disolve it with an embrace. I remember vividly the dissapointment when she collapsed into bed with her hand over her eyes. These memories meld into my own experience now as I go into the world as a working mom and attempting to do my own version of healing. But now, I am the one begging my little girl for just five minutes of alone time, unpealing her off of me despite her protests.
Going home allows me to re-trace this familiar body feeling and getting in touch with original wounds. It is a feeling of anticipation and anxiousness to be re-united. Re-united with the first place my soul incarnated and was actualized. The first place I knew sustanance and the first place, I learned about shame and surviving.
I miss her the way I miss me. But maybe being "missing" is a strategy to get us through our own particular challenges without the self medication- and saving a little piece/peace of ourselves.
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